The Promo
by pandorathexplora
Summary: COMPLETE! Summary: My take on making sense of the newest SN promo! Dean is in the hospital and Sam decides to do something about it.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: This is based off of that AWESOME promo those evil people at kripke and co. have left us with until March!!! This is my attempt at making sense of it all. Starts while Dean is in the hospital, and Sam decides to do something about it. Broken!Dean, Pissed!Sam**

**Rated: T for language, some violence.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.**

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The Promo

Something mechanical, twisted, and green synchronized itself into a perfect rhythm with his brother's heart. Plastic tubes slipped into his body easily, quietly like snakes into his arms and hands, curling into his mouth and nose, pushing him to take their medicine whether he wanted it or not.

The hospital bed was equally cold.

Dean lay there, unmoving and bruised. Sam had gone through the motions, pacing and lurking, harassing the doctors, and waiting at his brother's side without sleep for two days. But now, with the sun setting low, the rancid stillness of the outside world bleeding through the hospital's artificial shades, crawling onto the tile and into the dim recesses of his room, Sam waited. He had finally come to a resolution and sat in a seemingly peaceful state, his hands pressed together in mock prayer so that anyone that looked on him would say, "That's not a praying man."

"Turn away, Cindy," a mother would say, pushing her daughter passed the man in the shadows of Dean's room.

"But mommy," the daughter replied.

"Go!" she insisted, for a mother always knows when it's better to lead their children away from the shadows than to confront the things within them.

Sam had barely moved, eyes frozen on the limp body in front of him. Every scar on Dean's body reminded him of the failure he was. How could he have let him down?

Dean had been taken without Sam ever knowing, beaten and broken and returned like a present on their motel doorstep the next morning, wrapped in red gashes and purple contusions, sputtering for help at the edge of life itself. The monster had known where they were all along; he'd simply slipped in and out under the guise of night.

_They always did, the cowardly pieces of shit._

How could it have happened? The day had been so bright. The hunt had gone so well. They had celebrated with burgers.

"Extra cheese, extra meat, extra mayo, hold that gay stuff you like," Dean's voice echoed in Sam's memory.

"You mean vegetables?" Sam had said with a smile. He didn't know why he was smiling. They rarely had those few moments of just peace. Just beer, burgers, and peace. That's all they needed in life.

The smile dripped over into the present, and Sam caught himself in the hospital mirror as reality washed over him and he remembered how, again, the monster had snuck past them as they slept on their motel beds.

_Were they too afraid to come when we were looking? Too afraid of us? Too afraid of me?_ Sam's thoughts raced each other._ Well, they hurt Dean, and they should be._

Everything he did now was in planning, in careful vigil for when his brother would awaken. Sam tightened his fists and stood up to examine his brother, once again, for any sign of hope.

As he approached his bedside, the bruises seemed to grow larger around Dean's arms and face, but it was just his imagination.

Sam pressed the heels of his palms against his forehead, attempting to wipe away the illusion, as well as the overwhelming guilt and tears.

"God, you son-of-a-bitch," Sam said to himself standing above his brother.

Taking a deep breath, he wiped the wet, disgusting weakness from his eyes. Placing a cold hand against Dean's forehead, Sam felt his own facial expression deaden and something within him go numb.

Yes, he resolved, Dean would wake up. Eventually, Dean would wake up and tell him who attacked him. That was it. Easy as that.

Yes, and when he did, Dean would tell him "I'm fine."

And, yes, Dean would rise like the sun, and things would go back to normal.

Yes, and all else would seem flowers and rainbows with the world.

And then, Sam would find that pathetic Alistair, and he would make him pay.

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**So, what do you think? Should I write more? I have two more parts to add to this story, but based on reaction, it could change a bit. Yeah, yeah, I Know, "Pandora, you're obsessed with dark Sam fics...is this more of the same?"**

**Maybe. But don't worry Dean fans...he's not gone!!! :) Please read and review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ha, glad you're liking it so far!!! I'm A.D.D. so I'm just going to get to the fun stuff...the fights, as usual. Who needs suspense, right? I'm starting out with a little stream-of-consciousness here, but the first paragraph is vague on purpose. It will come around and be explained later, promise. **

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Dean awakens…a voice tells him its okay, but it's not, and as soon as Dean is healed, the young hunter races out, in search of the voice, the creature, Alistair, the poor bastard…

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They meet in a well-lit playground, but the winter has left it abandoned and alone. A weak breeze causes a swing to rock back and forth as if pushed by some unseen hand.

The once bright red metal around the playground has rusted into a coppery remnant of what once was. Six round, rubber tires lay sweetly on the cushioned mulch beside a silver slide. The tires, too, were once brightly painted blue and red, pink, and green – the colors of people who don't have demons, but angels, on the brain. And when their children would run through those tires, and their children jump onto that expertly sketched hopscotch concrete, and generation after generation continued in the sacred ritual of play, nobody would ever need to stop and scream in terror.

Not like today, where Alistair looks more like a man and less like a demon, his olive sports jacket with elbow patches needing only a pipe to complete his professorial visage.

"Been looking for me, Sam?" Alistair said, stepping out from behind an old oak tree. Expecting to see the young hunter spin wildly around in fear, in shock, in any one emotion among the hundreds from which humans could choose, Alistair brought his eyes across the yard to see only stillness.

The swing set had stopped its shrill screeching. The rustling of the fall leaves had shivered and quieted, waiting for a show. In the middle of the playground, while nature held its breath, Alistair witnessed the impossible.

He saw a man without emotion.

With Sam's back to Alistair, Sam calmly said, "What a nice day."

The only thing Alistair could see from his vantage point was the tall hunter, back still to him, dressed in all black -- a suit perhaps? Sam had kept his hands loosely at his sides but now he raised them, just slightly, only to bring them casually back down into his pant pockets.

"Won't you face me, Sam?" Alistair asked.

Raising his head to the sky, Sam finally turned back slightly to see the man staring back at him. Quickly whipping around as if Alistair surprised him, Sam feigned a show of shock, clutching his heart.

"Woah, man! Didn't see you there!" Sam said, bringing his right hand to tap his forehead slightly, "Stupid me, I just get turned around here sometimes, I don't know which way is up!"

Alistair didn't move. Before he had a chance to reply, the young hunter was walking towards him, hand extended, offering a handshake.

"Put 'er there, Sam Winchester's the name," Sam said coolly, approaching the demon with his hand still out.

Alistair narrowed his eyes. He brought his own hand out instinctively in defense at the coming hunter, prepared to blast the insolent young man onto his knees, where he belonged. This must have been a trick.

"No trick," Sam said, allowing himself to stop one foot away from the demon, raising both hands pointed to the sky in a show of surrender.

Alistair didn't bother to fall for it.

"My apologies, but no time for pleasantries today, boy," he growled. Cocking his head to the side, he took one look at the defenseless hunter and unfurled an invisible blast that would have knocked any normal man to the ground.

Yet when the light from the blast receded, and the car alarms around the block cried back in terror, a new Winchester emerged.

As the light from the demon's blast finally dissipated, its only evidence remained in the windowless eyes of Sam's stare. Carefree masks were exchanged for that of ferocity.

"Fine, have it your way," Sam said, monotone.

"You're stronger, Sam," Alistair stated, beaming with pride.

Sam remained without fear, without emotion, left only with instinct – that of the hunter, his prey in his sites.

"You have no idea."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! Sorry for the wait on this one. I think it's finished, and it's kind of a cliffy. But I think this is the ending I want. As a small recap, Dean was in the hospital, Sam went to find Alistair. They're now in a faceoff, about to battle.**

THEN:

_"Fine, have it your way," Sam said, monotone._

_"You're stronger, Sam," Alistair stated, beaming with pride._

_Sam remained without fear, without emotion, left only with instinct – that of the hunter, his prey in his sites._

_"You have no idea."_

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NOW:

A brutal jab to the right, a swift kick to his ribs, and a firm grip on Alistair's neck were the only sentiments exchanged between the two men.

Sam remained numb. They fought like men, though neither fully were fully that. Demon blood dripped, eyes locked, shouts through clenched teeth and fists blistered through bruises and back and forth physical torments.

Street brawlers. After prolonged minutes of fighting, Sam brought a tired fist up and down again onto Alistair's weakening form. Amid each punch, Sam spit raw words.

"You sick –," he shouted, "twisted" with another kick to the stomach, "piece of--"

Alistair's neck then snapped around unnaturally, to which he brought it back with an inhuman crack and a bloody grin.

"Shit!" Sam cried, while all his strength and all his power forced his fist to collide in one final blow.

Alistair's grin finally faded as the demon realized that playtime was over.

While Sam lifted Alistair up by the middle of his shirt, the demon finally spoke, raising a hand to the air in submission.

"Wait," Alistair said.

Sam's closed hand stopped mid-air, his mercenary-like trance dissolving with Alistair's uncharacteristically genuine tone.

"What?" Sam asked through heavy breaths. "Are you actually afraid?" Sam said coldly.

"I obviously cannot defeat you – as demon or as man," Alistair admitted. His words seemed honest, bordering on the realm of respectful. Was it possible that Alistair actually saw in Sam an equal?

"And you are far more powerful than I -- than Azazel ever imagined," Alistair continued. Sam's grip on Alistair's shirt loosened, the demon regaining his own footing slowly as Sam stepped back from the demon and a name that resounded in his nightmares.

"Azazel?" Sam blinked, confusion apparent.

"Yes, Sam," Alistair said, his balance regaining as the hunter completely released him. Standing fully now and straightening his sports coat, Alistair took a deep breath.

"Azazel was an associate of mine, one you and your brother destroyed amidst our," Alistair said, licking his lips, "plans."

"Fuck your plans!" Sam seethed. "I'm sick of your _plans_."

Taking three long steps behind him, Sam brought his hands up to the sky in frustration. "You've got a plan for the apocalypse, a plan for me, a plan for Dean." Sam's voice rose in volume. "You fucking got a plan for that tree over there, too?" Immediately, Sam raised his hand and channeled his focus on the leafy oak behind Alistair. His fingers curled as he sent a wave of energy towards the tree, and Sam watched with a satisfied grin as the tree responded back in an explosion of fire.

Narrowing his eyes at Alistair, Sam hoped to find the intimidation there. The last effort had taken much out of him, but he was determined not to let the demon see that. In the demon world, one had to know when to bluff and when to tell the truth. The important thing was to make them believe that you knew what you were doing.

"Impressive," Alistair said, his face seemed to mean it. "You've come into your own and all you needed was the trigger."

Shadows from the fire danced along Sam's face. He remained stoic, but inside he wanted to wring Alistair's neck and demand answers. However, as demons tended to do, Alistair enjoyed to relish in the dramatics and chose each word carefully. Truly, he was enjoying having Sam hang on every word.

"The trigger…yes, you know what it is." Alistair smiled, though he still struggled to breath, his human form broken.

"Trigger?" Sam's mind raced.

"Isn't it obvious, Sam? We all had it. It's what brings us over, people like you and me--"

Sam brought his hand up and psychically gripped Alistair by the neck.

"We are _nothing_ alike," Sam said without inflection.

Alistair's eyes went wide with surprise. He hadn't expected Sam's reaction and clawed at his neck to try to rip away the invisible hands that held him there.

"Pl-please, Sam," Alistair pleaded. "I tell y-you what I know."

Sam's hold loosened, though he stood ready to take the demon out if he slipped again.

"It's what brings people like _me_ over to serve Him," Alistair corrected himself.

"Him?" Sam questioned, disgusted at himself that he was engaging in a conversation with this beast.

"My Lord. The one that freed us. The one that gave us choice, free from tyranny, dictatorship, and forced decision. Don't you see, Sam?" Alistair asked.

"Enlighten me," Sam snapped back.

"He was the one that gave us free will. Without his guidance, his 'fall from grace,' as you people put it, we would all be slaves."

Sam scoffed, "You're kidding me, right? Are you seriously giving me that 'Satan is a hero' line? Really?"

Alistair stared, confused.

Sam continued, "Yeah, I read _Paradise Lost_, too, and what was it? 'Better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven,'? Do I have that right?"

"It's about choice, Sam," Alistair said.

"Right, right, the choice, all lead by this trigger," Sam's eyes rolled. He was tiring of this demon's diatribe.

"It's what leads us to the dark, as you say. Some do it out of pride. Out of greed. Others out of lust. Out of envy."

Sam interrupted, "Is this going somewhere? Or can I just kill you right here."

Alistair sped his speech. "You, Sammy, you are different. Your trigger wasn't a desire for wealth or power. You never wanted either, did you now?"

Sam held his breath, unsure of what to say.

"No, what was it Sam? What brought you to me today? What made you seek me out, forced your hands into yet another battle against the things that go bump in the night?" Alistair, realizing he had Sam's full attention, ventured a few steps closer to his opponent, as he continued, "What transformed you into this cold, dark, and powerful hunter?"

Sam felt his strength subsiding, his knees weakening.

"What made you embrace your powers and turn your back on everything, perhaps even life itself?"

Sam's vision wavered as his mind wrenched backwards in time, hit by a vision of plastic snakes that spit out medicine, sleeping on starched bedsheets. The bruised body of a man, teetering on the brink of death, blinked into focus. Covered with purple marks and cuts, the aging hunter finally opened his hazel eyes.

As the memory played out in Sam's mind, every feeling that went with it rose to the surface. Anger, relief, powerlessness, and power called to him_. Dean turned his head, despite the pain, his mouth struggling to find the right words as Sam towered over him with tears in his eyes._

"_Sam?" Dean said, his voice scratchy. His heart monitor created a metronome for his breaths. "Are you okay?"_

_Sam had to laugh a little, despite his tears. Even then, as Sam had waited along Dean's bedside for days on end, Dean finally awakens from a comatose, nearly dead state, to ask if, in fact, Sam was the one that was okay. Forever protective._

"_Yeah, Dean, I'm fine," Sam said. "Welcome back."_

_Dean moaned something inaudible, and Sam brought his head down to hear him again._

"_What was that?" Sam said. _

"_Get him," he muttered, slipping in and out of the realm of sleep. _

"_Get who?" Sam asked, holding onto Dean's hand tightly._

"_Alistair. Don't kill….Alistair," Dean coughed. He couldn't keep his eyes open. _

"_Don't kill? He did this?!" Sam could barely control his anger. _

"_Bring him," Dean said. "He's mine."_

With that, Sam knew what he had to do. The memory faded and the image of Alistair snapped back into focus.

"What made you do it, Sam?" Alistair was still talking. "What brought you to me?"

Sam brought his head down, mumbling Dean's name below a whisper. Alistair inched closer, always afraid of not being able to see what humans called the "windows" to their disgusting little souls.

"Hmm?" Alistair wrung his hands together. "What turned you?"

Sam took a breath and raised his head casually to lock eyes with the demon. Instantly, Sam found his trigger.

"Dean!" As quickly as he shouted Dean's name, the older hunter emerged from hiding, the fires of the dying tree behind him as he raced towards the demon, grabbed him by surprise, and placed the cold barrel of the colt against Alistair's temple.

Cocking his own trigger, Dean said into Alistair ear, "Long time no see."

Alistair's body went stiff at this surprise attack, his hands being held behind him and with the gun to his head, he had no other choice.

Alistair rocked his head back and opened his mouth wide to release himself from his captive state, the only way a demon knew how.

As soon as the black smoke touched his lips and crawled skyward, Sam lifted an open palm in his direction. Concentrating all his will, Sam bit his lip and fought the demonic essence, compelling it to crawl back into the body it inhabited. Ever so slowly, the black smoke reversed its direction and returned back into the host, much to Alistair's increasing horror.

"Not so fast," Dean said to Alistair who was now imprisoned in his body. "We have so much to talk about!"

Dean winked at his brother who still stood with his hand up, keeping the demon within his host. Dean brought his lips closer to Alistair's ear, "Bet you didn't see that one coming, now, did you?"

With a fierce shove, Dean pushed his hostage towards the Impala that was waiting in the lot behind the playground.

"You see, Al," Dean said as he walked his captive ahead of him, "Can I call you Al? Well, we sometimes have plans, too. Crazy, huh?"

Sam followed closely, making sure that Alistair didn't try anything.

Nearly throwing Alistair into the back of the Impala, Dean kept the door open briefly so he could spit a few more words to the beast before closing it. Alistair finally saw Dean for the first time. The older hunter was wearing his usual dark leather jacket, but his left wrist was in a cast, while new scars and bruises still showed themselves along his weary face.

Cleary, Dean had only partially recovered from what Alistair's minions had done to him, but the man only seemed strengthened, driven by anger, and not weakened by it all.

"You Winchesters. What do you want?" Alistair's lips curled in utter revulsion.

Dean straightened up by Sam who stood loyally next to him, both looking down at their weakened prisoner with equal malice and calmness.

Exchanging one look to each other and smiling, the brothers turned their attention back to Alistair. Before shutting the Impala's door, Dean responded, "Like I said. We have plans, too."

SHUT.

THE END.

**So what did you think? I know, I know, "What are the plans, Pandora?" Basically, it involves Dean torturing Alistair and pretty much getting as much information out of the demon as possible about hell and Dean and Sam's destiny. But since I have no idea WHY Alistair did all that stuff, I'm not going to go there. **

**Unless, there's a huge demand for more, I think this is it. Hope you enjoyed it! :) **


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